Our Shoes Were Stitched From Songs About Highways
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Deacon and Rayna: This is their story, in various forms of correspondence. "A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend." - Emily Dickinson
1. Napkin Note 1

_A/N: I have always been a fan of epistolary style writing, particularly if it's modern day. So, I thought I'd give that style a go in fanfic, though I'm not sure it'll exactly work. Each chapter will be a letter/correspondence of some kind, and some chapters will include a description of a character-reaction/other story, and some will not. Let's see how this goes…_

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 _You're so beautiful that just looking at you up there inspired me to write an entire song on a napkin, and I'll have you know that napkins have very little give to ballpoint pens. But I'll bet you're worth it, this song. I'll show it to you if you agree to a date. With me._

 _Circle one:  
YES NO_

As Rayna was sliding her arms into the sleeves of her worn jean jacket, a waitress approached the edge of the stage, a small smile on her face. She handed Rayna a small square cocktail napkin, her arm reaching up over the edge of the stage. Rayna took the napkin from her and raised her eyebrows quizzically.

The waitress, Gina, turned over her shoulder. "It's from him." She said, a wide grin spreading over her face as she nodded her head to one of the only people left in the Bluebird this late after her set.

Rayna followed Gina's head nod, and her stomach flipped as she looked at him, the sender of this mysterious note. He was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a worn brown leather jacket hung off the chair behind him. His brown hair flopped across his forehead, and Rayna tried in vain to recall ever seeing anyone who looked anywhere near good as he did. He was staring at her so intently that it unnerved her a bit, the way his gaze sank into her, finding its way right down into her stomach and nestling there.

Rayna dropped her eyes to the note, keenly aware of both the stranger and Gina watching her as she read the black text on the napkin. When she was finished, she didn't look at the stranger. Instead, she asked Gina for a pen and then turned her back to him, using a music stand as a makeshift table to write on the napkin.

"Here," Rayna said, handing the pen and the napkin, folded in half lengthwise back to Gina.

Gina nodded, and gave Rayna a small wink before she made her way across the café. When she arrived at the table, Gina handed the napkin back to the stranger, giving a final look to Rayna before she headed back behind the bar. Rayna watched him as he read it.

 _You're so beautiful that just looking at you up there inspired me to write an entire song on a napkin, and I'll have you know that napkins have very little give to ballpoint pens. But I'll bet you're worth it, this song. I'll show it to you if you agree to a date. With me._

 _Circle one:  
YES NO __Maybe_ _(very little give? napkins and I have that in common)_

Rayna watched as he tilted his head back in laughter; Rayna couldn't help but think how _sexy_ it looked on him, the way his eyes crinkled at their sides, the way the sound carried all the way up to the stage in the near-empty Bluebird. Rayna watched him as he took a long pull from his beer and then stood from the table. She watched him fold the napkin back up and slide it into his back pocket, and shrug his jacket on; instead of heading out the door so close to him, he headed straight for her.

Rayna tried not to panic, tried not to focus on the fact that she could feel her blood rushing through her veins, that she could hear it in her ears. He walked with a confidence she hadn't seen in many older men, let alone young men. It was fascinating, and she felt something shift in herself—she felt _drawn_ to him somehow.

Before she knew it, he was at the base of the stage—Rayna was frozen in place, the intense look in his eyes cementing her feet to the stage. She was standing on the edge of the stage, but she felt suddenly on the edge of something else, something she couldn't name.

When he looked at her, he smiled, but there was something else behind it—something that pooled in her stomach and spread out from there.

He reached his hand out to her, and she took it, her slender hand slipping in to his. She felt his rough callouses against her smooth palm, and a fire started within her.

"Hi," He said, his thumb running over the back of her hand, smoothing the skin there, "I'm Deacon."


	2. Napkin Note 2

_Did you have fun on our date last night?_

 _Circle One:  
YES NO MAYBE (see, I have give)_

Gina handed Rayna the napkin with a wink, "He's cute." She said, tucking her drink tray under her arm and looking at Rayna for more details. Gina was a friendly waitress, but Rayna hadn't considered that they might actually be friends. But the way Gina was looking at her now, Rayna thought that perhaps they were.

Hopping down from the stage to stand in front of Gina, Rayna smiled, then dropped her voice conspiratorially low, "I know." Rayna replied.

"Is he a good kisser?" Gina asked, leaning forward, her eyes shining.

Rayna blushed, bit her lip, and then nodded once. Gina squealed a bit, then handed Rayna the pen that had been tucked into her apron pocket. Rayna turned to the stage to use it as a sturdy surface for writing. When she was done, she twisted the cap back on the pen and turned around.

"I'll take it to him," Rayna said, smiling as she handed Gina her pen back.

Gina's face dropped a bit at the prospect of being cut out of this very obviously budding romance, but she smiled at Rayna anyway, shoved her pen back in her apron and headed to the bar, where she pretended to busy herself with wiping it down, all the while her eyes tracking the scene unfolding in front of her.

Rayna walked over to Deacon, willing her impossibly high heels to carry her safely to his table at the back of the Bluebird. The way he looked at her made her fear that her knees would give out, and that was _without_ the high heels she was wearing now.

She let out a little sigh of relief when she sidled up to his table—she'd made it without collapsing en route.

"You going to have Gina do _all_ your dirty work?" Rayna asked, sliding in to the seat next to him.

Deacon let out a slow chuckle, then took a swallow of his beer as he leaned back in his seat, "Ain't nothing dirty about talking to you," He drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, then he winked at her, "Yet."

Rayna felt her skin grow hot, but she refused to break his gaze—she couldn't look away. There was something dangerous about him that she liked, that she felt completely drawn to; but there was something safe about him, too, and it drew her further in to him. It was the weirdest thing.

Rayna put the napkin down on the table and slid it slowly across the table to him, watching him as his eyes dropped to the words she'd scrawled on it.

 _Did you have fun on our date last night?_

 _Circle One:  
_ _YES_ _NO MAYBE (see, I have give) (Oh, for me, you do)_

Deacon looked up at her and smiled, but something serious passed over his eyes. He looked at her like no one ever had before, certainly no man, and she couldn't place the look, but something about it told her that her parenthetical had been more accurate than she imagined it would be when she wrote it. Soon enough, the look was gone, replaced by an easy humor in the blue depths of his eyes. He folded the napkin and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans.

"Want to do it again?" Deacon grinned, "Right now?" He asked, standing up and slipping his jacket on.

Rayna laughed, but stood with him, ready to follow him anywhere he wanted to take her, "Maybe," She replied, her eyes sparkling as they headed out the door into the cool, black night.


	3. Letter 1

_Tandy,_

 _I am writing you a letter because I have been calling and calling but haven't been able to get ahold of you! I don't want to leave this on your machine because I don't want one of your "sisters" to hear it. How is pledging Thi Mega Tampon going, anyway? Sorry, I couldn't resist._

 _"The whole singing thing" as you and Daddy always seem to call it is going really well. Watty White has been helping me out so much, I can't believe how much he's been supporting me. He's been finding me gigs around town and things like that. I mentioned Watty and all of the help he's been giving me to Daddy one night, and Daddy got real still and his face turned about three different shades of red, the way it does when he's real pissed off. I'm sure you remember that face, seeing as how you were frequently the cause of it. I mean, I know he hates the "path I'm choosing" for myself, but I guess I didn't realize that he hates it that much. It made me kind of sad, actually, which surprised me. I know Daddy and I have our differences, but he is Daddy - would it kill him to support me? Or, hell, at least pretend to support me? I don't know; I'm his daughter, you would think that would mean something. All I do know is that I can't stop doing this. I can't stop performing. I know you think it's a long-shot and that I won't have the kind of career that I want, but it's just something that's in my bones. I don't know how else to explain it - it's like it's a part of me that I can't get out of my blood. It's been there for a really long time. It's just… Tandy, when I'm on stage up there, I feel like I'm exactly where I belong. I know you don't understand it, and I know Daddy sure doesn't understand it but… it feels like home. It's the only place that has since Momma died._

 _Anyway, that's not really why I'm writing. The true purpose of this letter is to let you know that I've met a guy. I have to tell you that I really wish I could see your face right now. Snap your jaw back together, Tandy, because it's true. I met him at the Bluebird after my set one night; he's a musician, too, and a really good one. His name is Deacon, and I swear he is the cutest guy I've ever seen up close. Actually, maybe the cutest guy I've ever seen, period, not just up close. I blush just looking at his face... it's actually pretty embarrassing, and I think he may be starting to notice how nervous he makes me when he looks at me. The looks he gives me? Tandy, I turn to jell-o; I've never had anyone look at me like he does - like he sees me, like I'm the only thing he ever wants to look at. This may sound stupid but... he looks at me like he was born to look at me. Does that even make sense?_

 _We've gone out on two dates, and I let him kiss me on both of them. And Tandy, boy, did he kiss me. It feels a little weird to write about it in a letter, but I've never been kissed like that, not ever. His lips were so soft, and his stubble (he has stubble!) was so rough, and his hands were in my hair, and I swear my knees forgot to do their most important job and keep me standing upright. I felt like I was going to collapse right there in his arms. I think I did collapse a little bit, and he held me up against him as he kissed me so I wouldn't fall._

 _Why didn't you tell me it was like that? You're my big sister, you're supposed to warn me about things like this! Instead, I'm doing some sort of weird trial by fire over here—and do I ever feel like it is a trial by fire. Anywhere his hands touch me, I burn._

 _Obviously, Daddy doesn't know a thing about this, and I intend to keep it that way for as long as possible. So, "mouth of the South," please keep this secret if it's the only one you ever keep in your life. I really don't need to hear another one of his 'Anyone without a trust fund isn't good enough for you... You're a Wyatt!' speeches. I've started going by Jaymes for my gigs, anyway. He doesn't know about that either. I don't want the Wyatt connection, whether it helps or hurts me. I want to do this on my own if I'm going to do it at all._

 _How's Vanderbilt? How's Henry? How're you?_

 _Love you,  
Rayna _

_P.S. We just had a third date and I had to open the envelope to include this P.S. here, but it was amazing, Tandy! Amazing!_

 _P.P.S. I let him go to second base tonight. Does that make me slutty?_


	4. Voice Message 1

_A/N: I tend to go easy on author's notes these days, but I just wanted to take a quick second to tell you all how much I appreciate the reviews you take the time to leave on my stories. Each and every review is so very much appreciated and I feel humbled by every single one of them - truly humbled. I was particularly overwhelmed by your response to_ The Heart Forms Long Before the Ribcage _; that story had been milling in my brain for a long while, and seeing you all respond to it as you did was amazing. In the end, I don't write for the reviews; I write because I love these two characters deeply. But every single review you leave makes me smile and makes me feel less alone in my deep abiding love for Rayna Jaymes and Deacon Claybourne. I don't ever plan on letting them go (as **we** know them - angsty, alive, and in desperate soul-crushing love with one another), and I hope you don't, either. _

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_Voice Message #1_

 _Rayna, it's Tandy. If you're there pick up. Seriously, I know you're there. Pick up, or I'm going to tell Daddy all about that boy you've been…_

"Hello?" Rayna said, removing the phone from its cradle.

Tandy laughed on the other end of the line, "I thought that might do it."

 _[message deleted]_

"Oh, good," Tandy said, responding to the automatic voice that cut across the line, "Don't want to forget _that_."

Rayna sighed, but she was smiling, "What do you want, Tandy?" She asked, reaching down to slip her right boot on.

"Can't I just want to talk to my baby sister? I haven't talked to you in _weeks,_ since right after I got your letter." Tandy's voice was falsely sweet.

Rayna let out a little laugh in to the phone, "You could," Rayna hopped as she put on her left boot and nearly lost her balance, "But we both know that's not why you called."

"That could've been why I called," Tandy said, laughing a little, "But, fine. How are things going with that _guy_?"

"Deacon." Rayna said, absentmindedly stuffing her purse with lipstick and spare change.

"Right, right, right," Tandy said, and Rayna could picture the look on her sister's face over the landline, "You guys have been dating for a little over a month now, right?"

Rayna rolled chapstick over her lips and then popped it in her purse, "We're doing a little more than _dating_ , Tandy," Rayna said, rolling her eyes.

"I thought so." Tandy said, her voice suddenly grave, "Just… be careful."

Rayna sighed, and twirled the cord hanging from the phone around her finger, "I always am."

Tandy scoffed, "Yeah, right."

Rayna shifted the phone to her other ear, "Tandy, I really have to go – I'm running late for my gig at the Bluebird."

Tandy sighed, "Okay, just… _call me more_?" Even through the line she sounded on the verge of tears.

Rayna stopped moving and stood still, "Okay," She said, nodding her head though she knew Tandy couldn't see her through the phone, " _I will_." She tried to keep the tears out of her own voice, though she didn't quite succeed. "Is that all?" She asked, a small smile on her face.

"No," Tandy said, "Use protection, I don't care _how_ much better he says it feels without it." Tandy added, doing her best stern voice

"I'm hanging up now," Rayna said, and then she slammed the phone back down in the cradle.

Grabbing her purse from the side table in the foyer, she got halfway to the door and then stopped. Quickly, she walked back to the phone table where she pressed a button on the answering machine, _just in case_.

[ _you have no new messages_ ]


	5. Napkin Note 3

A/N: _Most of these are going to have to be short - that's just the nature of this particular beast. If I want to cover the span of time I intend to cover, that's just how it has to be for these ones. If it's not your thing, I get it - this is experimental for me, too. But there are plenty of my other stories for you to read should you not enjoy this one. :)_

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 _Napkin Note #3_

 _Do you want to play guitar for me?_

 _Circle One:  
YES_

Gina brought the note to his table during the last song of Rayna's set. Rayna was backlit on the stage by a golden light that made her look ethereal; Deacon couldn't take his eyes off of her and he let the note flutter down to the table until her song was over. When it was through, he picked the note up and read it – he read it three more times, smiling wider after each pass.

Of course she didn't give him an option—of course, he _didn't_ have an option when it came to her. It was a truth he was rapidly learning as he and Rayna became closer. He was a moth and she was the flame – he'd never seen anything so bright and beautiful and if he thought for one minute he had a choice about being drawn to it, he was dead wrong.

When he looked at the stage, he saw Rayna watching him with a tentative smile. Slowly, she stepped down from the stage and made her way through the crowd, stopping to shake hands here and there. She was getting more and more name recognition, and people were getting more and more excited about her.

Deacon didn't think he could personally get any more excited about her if he tried—but damn, he was willing to try.

When she reached his table, Deacon stood up, a smirk on his face.

He looked her over, his eyes traveling up her slender frame, "Getting Gina to do your dirty work for you?" He asked, a smile in his voice.

"Mm, no," Rayna wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed her body languidly up against his, "I have _you_ to do my dirty work." Her voice dropped an octave, and she smiled at him suggestively.

"Ain't _nothin'_ dirty about that, baby." Deacon waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, no?" Rayna said, her voice sweet as she pulled back to look at him, "Let's see if we can change that, then."

Deacon felt the air leave his lungs and he wasn't sure it would ever come back—in that moment, he couldn't say that he quite cared very much if it did.

"So, do you want to?" Rayna asked, her voice quiet even in the din of the Bluebird.

Deacon's eyes widened—he wasn't sure he'd ever wanted anything _more,_ he just wasn't sure _she_ was ready. He pressed his hand into her lower back and kissed her gently, his lips parting hers as he dipped his tongue inside her mouth before moving back to look at her.

And then he realized what she meant; she was talking about the _guitar_. Deacon couldn't help it – he laughed, a full deep sound that bounced off the table as he shook his head.

"What?" Rayna asked, sliding her hands onto her hips.

Deacon laughed, shaking his head again, "Nothing, baby, nothin' at all." He smiled, "But you didn't leave me much choice, did you?" He asked. At her confused look, Deacon reached out and twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, "Your note. There was only one answer."

Rayna suddenly looked unsure, "If you don't want to…"

Deacon cut her off, his thumb tucking itself under her chin to bring her eyes to meet his, "I want to." He assured her, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of her nose, "Besides… I've _seen_ you play guitar…"

Rayna narrowed her eyes, "And what does that mean?"

Deacon grinned, "That I _really_ don't have a choice." He leaned into her ear, "The things you do to guitars, baby, should _never_ be done to any inanimate object." He nipped her ear, "The way you grip that neck, though…" He drew in an exaggerated breath and let it out into her ear.

Rayna laughed, throwing her head back, "Oh, you like that, do you?"

Deacon laughed, the sexy sound filling Rayna's ear, "Oh, yeah." He said, his fingers skating lower and lower down her back, "I really like that." He paused, "Come to think of it... it _is_ kind of dirty, what you do with those hands…"

Rayna smirked, then grabbed him by his collar, "Well, then—let's see just how _dirty_ I can get with my _new guitar player_." She tugged on his collar, then spun on her heel and breezed out the door of the Bluebird into the dark night.

Deacon stood grinning for a moment, knowing he had no choice but to follow her. Knowing he didn't want to do anything else _but_ follow her.


End file.
